


A Touch of Cosmos

by tide_ms



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Time, Guilt, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Shame, Soulbonds - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:54:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tide_ms/pseuds/tide_ms
Summary: The universe gives Michael and Philippa the chance to talk about their feelings for each other.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Mirror Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinebrightlikeanimon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinebrightlikeanimon/gifts).

> The first chapter is a finished and complete story! The 2nd is a bonus chapter/ending. Hope you like it.

More often than not, Michael catches herself thinking about Philippa, the former _emperor_ Philippa, with yearning.

Other times it's sadness or whirls of emotions that Michael has feeble will to escape.

The only explanation to those unsettling moments is completely logical, however; her remorseful heart is being tricked by the resemblance between the emperor's appearance and her captain's.

That explanation reassures Michael, and promises her that her captain is not being replaced or forgotten.

She still misses her, _Captain_ Philippa Georgiou, and she still loves her deeply.

  
But someday, while they prepare to catch The Red Angel, while Michael's fuming from discovering that her parents were killed because of Leland, something strange yet nonthreatening happens. A warmth of some sort spreads within Michael and a precious name echos off of her heartbeats.

_Philippa._

Agent of Section 31 and former Emperor of the Terran Empire in the mirror universe; _Philippa_.

And Michael realizes that that yearning; that sadness and that sorry and that love, flickering occasionally in her heart have not been misplaced. She realizes that she has been in denial about something; about a feeling far worse than yearning.

Desire.

Lustful desire.

But that's not what shocks Michael, no, what shocks her and worries her and pulls her into unconsciousness is realizing that she's now connected to Philippa through a Stellar Bond, and that if it's desire for Philippa that the connection heightens within her, then it means that Philippa desires her, as well.

  
Michael has never experienced Stellar Bonds before. She knows that they have no confirmed pattern yet, and that they only happen in space. She knows that they grasp the one feeling two persons equally have for each other, and psychologically tie them, tie their souls as they say, together for a few moments.

That knowledge is the first thing Michael registers upon waking up in the sickbay. She notes the hot thrum travelling through her veins next. A heavy and weird thrum.

Tilly looks relieved upon seeing her awake, then freaks out.

"Oh my God, Michael! You scared the hell out of me, and then Captain Georgiou almost fainted, too, and I got even more scared, but then I realized it's the Stellar Bond and everyone literally panicked—"

Confused, Michael gazes at Tilly, then at Dr. Pollard, whose posture expresses patience.

Tilly notices and immediately comes to a pause. "Was that too much talking?" She says in a hushed voice. "It was too much talking." She purses her lips into a hard line, blushing.

Dr. Pollard sighs, then softly informs Michael of her condition, "your vitals are all as normal as the connection allows, and your temperature should settle once you and Captain Georgiou come to close proximity. She is already in the shared quarters, but I have to ask you like I've asked her. Do you want to request for a chaperone to be present with you?"

"No," Michael replies readily, surprising herself.

"Do you need time before joining her?"

Heat creeps under Michael's skin and pours in her cheeks. She clears her throat before answering, "No, thank you, doctor."

Dr. Pollard nods, and leaves.

Tilly speaks again, but with a flimsy quiet. "Okay, okay, Michael, let's calm down—it's no big deal, right? You just have to be close to each other— wait, never mind, you already know that. And you're fine, that's the most important thing! Are you fine, Michael? Because if you don't want to be with her, I will figure out a way to break the connection, you don't have to worry—"

"Tilly, Tilly!" Michael has to sit upright to get her attention, which works but also makes her head spin. She holds Tilly's arms tight. "I'm fine."

It takes a moment, but unease and tension release Tilly as she hesitantly say, "you can't be fine, it's the Stellar Bond!" Then adds in a whispered shout, "with you know who!"

"I know. Trust me, I know."

With a sigh, Tilly sits beside her on the bed. "Do you want me to stay outside the shared quarters? I will! If it'll make things easier."

"Tilly, no!" Michael says, shaking her head with a weak smile tugging at her lips. "We need to finish preparations and most importantly figure out The Red Angel's appearances' pattern. Plus, I doubt she is in a better position th—" Michael belatedly remembers that the mutual feeling connecting her to Philippa is desire; _that what drove her into unconsciousness had been a sudden burst of sensual desire for Philippa._

She lowers her head, mortified as she registers the faint pulsing deep in her groin.

She isn't aroused, merely provoked, and yet she has no idea how to ignore it when it should be easy.

Tilly holds her hand. "Hey, it'll be fine. I'm here if you want to talk about it."

Michael nods shakily.

"Besides," Tilly continues, "the longest it ever took for the connection to resolve was four hours. You definitely don't have to worry!"

Despite her fluster, Michael laughs. Tilly trying to cheer her up is comforting.

Michael enters the shared quarters, a private room for situations that require privacy such as this one, hopefully expecting Philippa to be indifferent about the bond. Perhaps even amused enough to tease Michael.

(Not that she wants to be embarrassed by Philippa.)

But she finds Philippa dejected.

She's leaning over the bathroom sink. The water is running steadily, and when Michael calls for Philippa and the latter doesn't answer, it feels like she's been fighting the silence with that calming sound.

Michael's heart starts thudding wildly, agonizingly accepting the relief the mere sight of Philippa gives her.

She inches closer. She closes the tap, and with a bated breath, she waits for Philippa to acknowledge her.

"Am I right to assume that your lust is meant for my counterpart?" Philippa asks.

Michael's cheeks heat up. Her body heats up, _reacts_ to Philippa's always-confident voice.

It's harder to ignore her desire now, but Michael manages.

  
She wants Philippa to be right.

She wishes that that desire lingering stubbornly in her sex had come into existence for Captain Georgiou, and unknowingly to Michael, has been blooming for the former, ruthless Emperor Georgiou.

She wants the truth to be that; just like her heart, her body has been fooled by the resemblance because she can't seriously be attracted to someone who has done awful crimes.

_But..._

"Stellar Bonds don't make mistakes, you know that."

Philippa exhales a short laugh. A laugh that bears sorrow, not taunt.

Despite herself, Michael fixates on that laugh. Then immediately on Philippa's armor-less form and Philippa's exposed skin.

Upon doing that, Michael internally scolds herself and stands straighter. She starts distracting herself but Philippa nears her until there's only a speck of distance between them. Michael's body responds to the closeness further.

Michael purses her lips, inhaling deep and quick breaths as Philippa's charms intrigue her, as the desire she has for her turns into a void that needs to be filled.

"Of course," Philippa says coolly, "you never dared to desire your beloved captain that way, did you, Michael?" Then murmurs with something that feels like curiosity, "I can tell. You never allowed yourself that pleasure."

Michael's anger rises for a number of reasons, but there's no malice in Philippa's darkened eyes, no venom in her voice, so she remains silent.

"You respected her way too much to do that, but with me—"

"We don't have to talk, you know?" Michael says hotly, "we just have to stay close for a moment or two."

No one knows why the distance matters for Stellar Bonds. When the two connected are as close to each other as two heartbeats, the bond resolves, slowly but ultimately smoothly. When they're far from each other, it's only headaches and exhaustion looming.

"Oh, how close?" Philippa says sarcastically. "You'll have to forgive my ignorance, Michael. The few times I connected with someone happened in my universe, and they started with a battle and ended with one of us killed." Philippa bares her teeth in an overly delighted grin; it feels like a snarl. "Clearly I wasn't the one killed—"

Michael stops her with a tight hold. Almost a hug, but not quite.

She turns rigid, and Philippa freezes in her arms.

"Don't do that," Michael whispers. "Don't turn this into a joke. Please."

"Why?" Philippa asks callously.

"It doesn't matter why!"

She's trembling now. Her cheek is so close to Philippa's; the warmth of her body generously wraps around her, the way their bodies fit against each other: nice and perfect, drives her mad, shows her her mistake.

The Stellar Bond might've roused her desire for Philippa, but that instant has been a fleeting burst that resolved into a lingering itch, which she could easily take care of in private. Alone in private. Stellar Bonds do nothing greater than baring emotions, _exposing_ them. But now, holding Philippa so closely and tightly like this, feeling her sturdy body, proves to be a mistake because now an alluring thought storms Michael's mind: _what if?_

_What if they followed their desires for each other?_

It's a scary thought.

Michael gingerly lets go of one silent Philippa. She's unable to meet her eyes.

"I... I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"I believe the connection has already proved that we've desired each other's touch for some time now, Michael," Philippa says steadily, with no trouble or shame at all. With no viciousness or mockery or anger.

"Well, connection or not, I can promise you that I won't behave indecently nor make an inappropriate advance toward you. Not now, not ever."

"I know," Philippa says readily. "Just like I know _you_ know that I won't ever hurt you."

Michael locks eyes with her, and catches a glimpse of a familiar gleam.

Philippa often looks at her with that gleam. It's gentle; always drawing happiness and relief to Michael's heart.

It brings Michael some balance now. Her body's temperature has already been settling, the hot thrum has resolved into a soft tug, Michael notes. They're still connected.

She also notes how nice Philippa's scent is, how nice this physical closeness is.

She leans on her heels, lays her hands on the sink behind her to get some space between them. It's for the best; she can't allow her thoughts to betray her with erotic scenarios.

"I spoke with Leland," Michael says.

Philippa softens, but says nothing and offers her quiet and time.

"I hit him. I'm not proud of it, but I don't regret it, either." Michael's gaze turns sharp. "You should've told me."

"And deprive you of the chance to hurt him, even if just a little?"

There's the slightest hint of amusement, but Philippa remains thoughtful when says that.

Michael rolls her eyes at her, smiling briefly.

"You're smiling, good, now we can talk about this _scandalous_ truth," Philippa says, expectedly exaggerating her description of said truth. "_You_'ll need to talk about it."

"Not with you."

"You're going to tell Tilly you want to fuck me?"

She's genuinely serious and shocked, and Michael turns bashful, hating how that's a valid reaction.

She refuses to answer, though, she refuses to confirm that she will _not_ be telling Tilly that she wants to... that she wants Philippa. In that manner.

Philippa sighs. "Will it change our relationship?"

Michael shakes her head, swallowing thickly. "No. We're professionals, we can handle our mutual sexual attraction appropriately without drawing awk—why are you smiling?"

"So you do acknowledge our relationship." Philippa walks out of the bathroom. "I'm honestly surprised _you_ aren't surprised and despising me even further for having this desire toward you."

Michael recognizes the layer of bitterness, subtle within her usual snark.

That bitterness is sometimes sadness, hurt, love, anger, and while Michael always feels a twinge of sorry toward Philippa because of it, now she's distracted because her body reacts instantly to the widening of the physical distance between them. Badly so.

Michael follows her, and Philippa continues with an undercurrent of annoying amusement. "I know I was shocked. The last thing I'd have ever expected you to feel for me is lust, Michael." She meets her eyes. "So much for hating me and everything about me, hm."

Michael rolls her eyes.

"I was surprised, a little," she admits. "But I think I've suspected that you hold a certain kind of... affection for me for some time now."

Philippa sits on the bed, grabs her jacket and weapons. She acknowledges Michael's reply with a faint snort, which provokes Michael.

"What's that supposed to mean? Philippa, I never denied that we have a relationship."

"You _can't_ deny that we have one, almost everyone thinks I'm your former captain. What you do is rejecting it even though I'm here because of you."

"You're alive because of me," Michael corrects, "you have a second chance because of me."

Philippa scoffs, and doesn't comment further.

Even with just being a few feet apart, Michael feels the few beats marking the start of a headache and fatigue and dangerous instability of body temperature.

The sudden frown appearing on Philippa's face says she's feeling the same.

Michael sits beside her, their thighs brushing, and the promised discomfort fades away.

"Do you honestly wish we go back to that moment and I leave you to die?"

Philippa replies instantly, confident yet sullen and tensed as she meets her eyes, "I wish to fuck you until the both of us can barely walk."

Michael's heart beats harder. She sees challenge in Philippa's eyes while irritation and anger mingle with lust and need and together burn within her.

Michael suspects that the challenge is unintentional, if the flush creeping up Philippa's neck and the way her breaths are quickened indicate anything.

Michael holds her gaze, regardless, and speaks evenly, "don't avoid my question. Do you really wish you've died that day?"

Philippa relents without a fight.

She looks ahead and lets quiet resolve all the tension building up around them before answering.

"I wish for a world where the Michael in it doesn't reject me," she says calmly. "You don't owe me acceptance into your life, of course, nor will I ever demand it."

The hurt in Philippa's voice tugs at Michael's heart. It's raw and exposes Philippa in a way that's new to Michael, and that's why it becomes a pull so painful and more evident than the one of the Stellar Bond. Then Michael thinks—no, she realizes: _she wants Philippa in her life._

She wants this Philippa in her life. Not as a replacement. She wants her even if she is morally and dangerously bad, for the most part.

Her stubborn yearning for her proves that. Her stray thoughts that take her focus toward her every now and then prove that. Her... well, her lust that awakens during long nights, that she hurriedly and shamefully takes care of easily proves that.

Before Michael can comment, though, something shifts within her, in the tiny space between her and Philippa. That cosmic tug drawing her to Philippa gently... dissolves.

They feel it at the same time.

Philippa grabs her things and heads for the table. All feelings shed in the blink of an eye. "Well, that was fun," she says with nonchalance that Michael doesn't believe. "I must admit, though. I'd never, not in a million years, thought it'd be lust that connect us. Anger was more fitting."

She doesn't even look at her, she's seeking distance from her.

_Michael can't let things end like this._

"Philippa, I'm not rejecting you," she lets out, her resolve grows with each word. "I... I don't think I can do that even if I want to." She nears Philippa with a heavy heart. "And I don't want to even though maybe I should, for both of our sake."

"What do you know about my sake?" Philippa asks with a bite to her voice and darkness to her eyes. Both so harsh.

"I know that you have a place in my life, and I in yours," Michael replies, logic fails to give her an excuse for this admission and she realizes it, but she continues with the same honesty. "I know I desperately want to trust you."

Philippa doesn't even wait for her to finish properly before taking her in her arms and capturing her lips with intense desire that Michael responds to it... embarrassingly.

She allows Philippa the demand in her grip and accepts the rough press of their bodies. She welcomes Philippa's hunger and desperation into her mouth and pour her stubborn lust in hers. She readily abandons reason that tells her _they shouldn't be doing this_ and dares to want every fantasy she's ever had about Philippa and immediately stifled to come true.

She closes her eyes in bliss, and cradles Philippa's face in an unanticipated need to draw her in deeper.

Michael shudders.

Philippa's mouth is wet and warm and _good_. It's their first kiss, far from perfect yet sensual and breathtaking that Michael gasps. Philippa wastes no opportunity to bite, literally. She sinks her teeth into Michael's lips, and the pain is appropriately weakening.

She digs her fingers into Michael's waist, and it's maddening to the point where pleasure clashes with guilt almost immediately. They're kissing again, but this time it's tentative and exposing the conflict both of them seem to be experiencing.

She's reluctant to let go of Philippa, though. And Philippa struggles with her hands; with touching her so wantonly.

It's guilt, Michael absently thinks. The meeting of their bodies has brought pleasure and guilt and shame, but while the two latter are powerful, contaminating her senses and dissipating every fantasy, the former is a ravenous fire that eats up the guilt and shame like they're its favorite fuel.

So Michael presses her hips onto Philippa and accepts the immediate sting of shame.

In response, Philippa growls into her mouth and presses her into the table with roughness that, to Michael, is far from unexpected.

Michael chokes on a whimper, then stiffens when Philippa skillfully works her way into her trousers.

She stiffens with anticipation that holds her in her place, in Philippa's arms. She's desperate for Philippa's touch, and when she gets it on her stomach, she realizes Philippa.

She's been too enchanted by the sensations storming her that She hasn't noticed how red Philippa is; her breaths are quick and hot, her eyes are dark yet reassuring, her posture is vulnerable.

_She is in awe._

Philippa notices her, and there's a statement that she lets out with confidence and feeble coldness draping over her features. "I'll stop right this instant. Just say it."

Her words are rough, but not armed with guilt and shame.

Her words do bear guilt and shame, but they're her own; exposed the same way Michael's are.

Her words are... completely her; Philippa, the cruel one who's trying to do good.

Michael feels tightness in her chest, surprisingly the sweetest thing she's ever felt.

She kisses Philippa bruisingly, holding her wrist to push her hand lower where she needs it the most, then gasps and stills when it reaches there.

Philippa doesn't hold back. She rubs her and gives her hiding, which Michael hasn't fully intended on doing when she presses her face onto Philippa's cheek while thrusting against her hand.

But there's only so much she can process all at once: the truth of their feelings for each other — complicated by their entwined pasts, Philippa kissing her whenever she can wherever she can and losing herself in the pleasure they're sharing — Philippa palming her while her own thigh presses hard onto Philippa's crotch, the heat that they've created, the rhythm that they've easily found. The need, the guilt, the undying shame.

It's all too much, Michael wants to feel only the pleasure. Just this once. Simple pleasure.

She gets that. For a moment, when the coiling knot that's been building up dangerously fast finally bursts, all Michael feels is pleasure.

For that moment, Michael's thrusts onto Philippa's hand are short and hard enough to shake the table behind her. For that moment, Philippa holds her strongly, and keeps holding her that way throughout it all.

Michael holds her wrist again, guiding her to stop her caring and skillful motions.

Philippa's stiff as she complies. They're silent and breathless and sweaty, and Philippa's letting Michael decide their next move.

_Should she want to end things at that, it's her choice._

Michael doesn't end things at that. Her fantasy—no, her desire isn't complete.

The guilt and shame are still there, but so is the pleasure. So is the need to pleasure Philippa.

Michael kisses Philippa's cheek. She kisses her deeply and hesitantly enjoys the trembles she draws in her trail as she heads for her neck.

  
On the bed, they don't get rid of their clothes. They push them out of the way— Philippa's trousers are lowered enough for Michael to touch her comfortably while lying on top of her, but they don't bare their bodies.

(Later, Michael will recall how neither one of them attempted to do so. She will realizes that guilt and shame had affected their moment of rapture after all.

She won't attempt to analyze said guilt and shame. Not yet. They're too raw.)

Philippa kisses her the entire time. She kneads her body with intent and rocks her hips with steadiness, _and a tinge of leisure_, it makes Michael want to prolong the build up, and unintentionally she does.

She works Philippa up until Philippa's snarling into her mouth and riding her fingers with demand. She _loves_... Philippa until there's a chance for a smile. A smile of happiness and content because they have each other.

  
It gets awkward. Of course, it does.

Regrets storm them, immediately after sharing one final kiss.

It's the only explanation as to why Philippa doesn't tease her or joke about it while they wash and tidy their clothes before leaving the shared quarters in silence. She actually acts professionally the entire time they figure out their plan to capture The Red Angel. So professionally that Michael worries there might be more to it than regret. Maybe there's rage or hate now. Maybe distaste.

But when they find out that the only solution for their plan to work is her dying, Philippa drops the mask of indifference and holds her hand tight.

"Even though you'll die. Don't," Philippa tells her. "It isn't over yet."

Michael is hopeful despite herself, and barely able to maintain her own professionalism. "What isn't?"

"Us."

Philippa gazing at her with that familiar, lovely gleam, and squeezing her hand gently wash her worries away. She smiles, allowing herself not one more second of worrying.

No matter what happens next, Philippa can't hate her. _She_ can't hate Philippa. This, Michael is sure of, and though it simply points out the complexity of their relationship, it's also reassuring and Michael takes that.


	2. Chapter 2

She allows Philippa the demand in her grip and accepts the rough press of their bodies. She welcomes Philippa's hunger and desperation into her mouth and pour her stubborn desire in hers. She readily abandons reason that tells her _they shouldn't be doing this_ and dares to want every fantasy she's ever had about Philippa and immediately stifled to come true.

She closes her eyes in bliss, and cradles Philippa's face in an unanticipated need to draw her deeper.

Michael shudders, and gasps.

Reason comes back, to Philippa first.

Philippa releases her lips and takes a step back all at once. She turns away and though they're still draped in each other's warmth, it's now freezing.

Michael's chest hurts, her head spins, her limbs are tingling with nerves; she's out of that sweet bliss.

"We can't do this," Philippa says angrily, her cheeks are red. Her trembles are unmistakable and make her rejection a lot less painful. "We shouldn't."

Unexpected disappointment fills Michael's heart. She knows Philippa is right, she really does, but she _wants_.

She wants to have sex with Philippa until the both of them are barely able to walk.

"I know. We'll regret it," Michael says.

"_You_'ll regret it."

That surprisingly infuriates Michael. "Right. Because you know me so well, don't you, Philippa?"

"Don't I?!"

Philippa faces her again, now with undeniably intentional challenge, and Michael wants to prove her wrong. Wants to show her that she won't regret sleeping with her.

But the matter is delicate. And though the desire she has for Philippa is tormenting her, in both good and bad ways, Michael can't mute the whisper telling her that the only release from said desire can easily turn into a prison of regrets and shame.

_Michael doesn't want to regret it if it happens, but she will._

Michael holds her gaze, then says with a voice so strained with hurt and anger and frustration it's quiet, "I'd have thought it'd be love." She smiles coldly. "If I'd ever wondered what could connect me to you, I'd have thought it'd be love. As complicated and confusing as it is."

There's a flash of surprise in Philippa's eyes; a twitch to her brows, but Michael doesn't linger around to see if it'll shatter the tension and discontent and hurt that their relationship has been built on. _Along with sadness and yearning and love._

  
Michael forbids herself crying. It's embarrassing and it will only confirm that she's acted pitifully in front of Philippa when all she wanted was to prove her wrong. And maybe return to believing that her feelings for Philippa are a temporary confusion.

_Not to mention that all Philippa ended up wanting is protecting her._

And though crying that day feels inevitable because she has to die in order to capture The Red Angel, Michael doesn't let her tears fall. They almost brim over when she lays her eyes on the platform where she will die, but she strangely finds strength. All hurt pushed aside.

Then Philippa's voice reaches her, too, and it's comforting in its own right. Philippa is, despite everything. "I expect you to live through death, Michael."

Michael summons all of her professionalism.

"I will, the plan is solid."

"Good, because we haven't finished talking yet."

Michael wants to maintain the sharpness to her voice, but there's something in Philippa's eyes. Something that calls for all the things in her heart.

Philippa smiles fleetingly and squeezes her shoulder in support.

Michael returns that smile. It's awkward, but sincere, nonetheless. It's a smile that can bear happiness.


End file.
